It's Not That Easy, Vince
by PrizJefra
Summary: So a deranged psycopath enters Capricorn's village.You know Basta,will he find it in his heart to tutor and protect this agitated man? Or will he dispose of him as his peers advise? WARNING: Includes heavy language and a few "mature" scenes.
1. The Van and the Man

Chapter One

Shit, shit, shit. Not again! Why can't I control myself anymore? Why has killing become so natural for me? I wasn't always like this…just one time and I snapped…..I fucking snapped…

I swerved a tight corner. A dead end alley. I could hear the ear-splitting screech of the damned police cars as they rounded the corner after me. I could practically hear the labored breathing of the cops on foot and the loud barking of the ferocious German Shepherds at their sides. _Fuck_. The only option that I had was to throw myself over the cement wall in front of me and hope to lose them. _Fuck, man. Just turn yourself in, get it over with, suicide on the electric chair is nothin' but a long sleep. _

No.

No I wouldn't escape, whatever punishment that they dealt out I deserved. I took a deep breath in. _Time to wave the little white flag._

"Alright!" I threw my hands up in submission. "Alright, I give-" That was all I could say before one police guy fired at me. I felt sick, dizzy, and yet strangely _tranquil_ as I fell to the ground, clutching my thigh, screaming in pain. I reached for my empty pistol to throw to the ground in a supreme act of submission but the police took it as a threat and another shot was fired at my arm.

"Please! Stop!" I yelled, my voice cracking like a little boy's.

Then the worst of worst happened. One of the German Shepherds was startled by the shot and it lurched forward. All of my senses snapped as I saw nothing, but heard crunching and gushing liquid, yet I could not see. I tasted the blood splattering into my mouth, yet I could not feel anything. I could smell the spittle of the dog as many policemen (ironically) tried to yank the beast off of me.

_Wait a minute, this ain't right, this ain't right and you know it. It's not your time to die yet, _another faltering voice told me as I experienced a moment of true darkness. _Try one more time, Vince._

I opened my eyes a bit; a crimson sheen blocking my vision. I took a deep breath and then bolted up. I heard the dogs barking profusely and the police yelling profanities, but I was already on the other side of the wall. I'd landed with a muddled _thoomp_ on a merciless sidewalk_, _feeling every single rib that cracked on the hot asphalt. For a few minutes I lay balancing on my stomach, panting, and a making what must have been the equivalent of a gaping-fish face. Then I shot up and was running.

I don't know how long I ran. It could have been three hours or three seconds before I saw _the_ van. I shoved pass everyday citizens who screamed when they saw me and pulled out their cell phones to call 9-1-1. I think I might have knocked down a whole outdoor book shelve but I couldn't be sure. All I knew at the moment was the word _run. _And then I saw the van. It was a dusty, white delivery van, going slow, but fast enough to match my speed. The thing that I remember most clearly that day, more than the godforsaken pain, was the look on the driver's face as he watched me through the window of the van. He looked over at me really slow, like slow motion, and...His face...it showed no surprise whatsoever. One hand lazily clutching the steering wheel , he watched me running besides the van, as if he was used to seeing bloody, torn up men running down the street. His eyes, when they met mine, almost seemed to say, "I can help you, I can be your savior…but why should I?" There was something about this guy…the angular shape of his face, the way he narrowed his eyes in disgust…an evil nature…

Before I knew it the van swerved and stopped with a screech centimeters in front of me. The door was thrown open. "Get in," a dark voice commanded. And get in I did.


	2. Doves and Magpies

**Chapter Two**

The van was very smoky, that was the first thing that I noticed. There were six men in total, a little wide-eyed boy and a man with a squashed nose on one side of me and a man with red hair formed into a Mohawk on the other side. In the passenger seat was a handsome Italian man with sun-tanned skin and in the driver's seat was the man that I first saw, who was now staring at me in the rear-view mirror while trying to drive steadily. There was a silence that I didn't understand as everybody stared at me with wide-eyes and slightly amused looks. I became aware of my loud, labored panting and thought it strangely rude. The only thing that crossed my mind at that moment was manners. "Thank you." I puffed, not knowing where to look. "I…I…thank you for…" I doubled over, overpowered by nausea and lack of oxygen.

"Huh…"

"Oi, you're bleedin' like a stuck-pig," The man with the red hair informed me.

{{{I looked down. For the first time I noticed the seriousness of my injuries. For one my left pants leg was so coated in blood that the color had completely gone from denim black to a deep, deep red. I could not move my left arm and my chest…my chest was completely ripped open, blood gushing over my white shirt like a lively fountain. On the left side of my chest I could see a pulsating, bloody mass through the ripped skin near my nipple. Alarmed, I noticed the rib that stuck straight out of my chest. I ran my hand over it and thought, Fuck, I'm screwed. But that's when the pain started. Until then I had felt nothing of my wounds, just a dull pounding at the area of injury. But when the pain hit me, it hit me like a fucking wave. I felt as if a train was pushing against my body, pushing me into the seat. I was overtaken by violent spasms as my body tried to cope with the overwhelming pain that had consumed me like a ravishing fire. The last thing I remembered was deliriously trying to push the jutting rib back into my chest and fainting from the pain.}}}

I woke up with a nauseating feeling. I hurt all over, but not as much as before; a muffled throbbing. I took in a ragged breath, expecting to smell the heavy odor of blood, but instead the smell of _dinner_ hit me. I sniffed in surprise. Yeah, an Italian cuisine, pasta with fresh rosemary, bread baking somewhere, some type of pungent (but delicious) meat. "Where am I?" I asked, eyes closed. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and opened my eyes hesitantly.

Standing above me was possibly the loveliest woman I'd ever seen (cliché, much?) This woman had swept-back dark-blond hair complimented by a thin, hear-shaped face. Her lips were thin but a creamy pink color. Her eyes were a clear blue, but drooped slightly, giving her a sad look. I guess that I ogled her because she was so different from the girls that I usually hung out with (seductively dirty women from the hood.) The woman minded her business despite my staring; strapping my arm into a sling, tying a tight cloth around my chest, applying smelly stuff to my leg.

"Who are you?" I asked her, dazed. She smiled, making eye contact, and gave me a dirty scrap of paper.

_My name is Theresa Folchart, but you can call me Resa. Don't worry though; I'm nothing but a timid maid here. Have you met Capricorn yet?_

I looked at her. "Capricorn? Who the hell is that? Wait…isn't that the star-sign for a fish or something?" Ironically, when Resa laughed, I realized that she was mute. Suddenly she looked grim. She took the paper from me and began to write on it.

_It's the star sign for a goat, actually. But when you are introduced to this man please do not make jokes like that in his presence. He has the power to do bad things to you whether the law abides it or not._

She flipped the piece of paper over and continued writing.

_I'll try to tell you as much as I can write. Capricorn is an evil ruler who commands a brutal army of men that live here in the village where you were brought. He has much power over the local government, so try not to call to their attention. We are his maids._

She gestured to the women around her. I suddenly noticed that I was lying on a table in a spacious kitchen. Various pots and pans were boiling over, a fire was burning in a nearby by fireplace, and it had the distinct smell of _home _and _dinner_. Most of the maids were staring at us and whispering. When I waved they flinched, averting their eyes, and giggled. I pulled my shirt over my chest.

"So this Capricorn…what does he want with me? I asked, sipping the hot liquid that she had given me. She regarded me sadly and then began to write.

_Unfortunately, mister, you are too injured to be employed as one of his henchmen. Since there are no other jobs for men here, you might be…disposed of. I'm so sorry that Basta has brought you here. I don't know why he did it. Speaking of Basta, don't-_

Suddenly the door to the kitchen was flung open. All of the maids jumped and scurried back to work as a very old woman, two buff men, and very young woman (a maid, I'm guessing) came in. "Hurry up with the cooking, you scurrying little things! You," The old woman pointed at Resa with such a sharp tone that I, surprised, fell of off the table and landed with a "thunk" onto the hard floor that shattered my whole body.

"Passing notes again, you little wretch?" I saw the old woman (who faintly resembled a magpie) waving the note that Resa was writing on in front of her nose. Resa, who looked worried, was making pleading signs with her hands.

"Whoa, bitch!" Everyone looked at me in surprise as I struggled to get up. "Give that back to her, you fucking _bird_! Mind your own damn business!"

There was complete silence.

Then I heard a metallic click.

The men behind me had drawn wicked looking guns and were aiming them at me.

"Hold him," The Magpie lady said with surprising calm. Resa tried to come to my aid but was held back by her fellow maids while the two men grabbed me and pinned my hands behind my back. I screamed in agony as I felt my arms snapping from the pain. The next second I was gagged.

The Magpie Lady looked me up and down for what seemed like an eternity. "So this is him? Basta is even more of a fool than I thought."I felt sweat pour down the side of my face.

"Listen, and listen well, boy," The Magpie lady continued, thrusting her ugly face in mine, "You are nothing but a useless, broken burden in Capricorn's hands. If by some faint chance you are given the option to live, you watch your mouth around me, boy, or I will have these men break you further and render you beyond uselessness. Do I make myself clear?"

I glared at the old woman, voicing my hate through my eyes, but caved in with a whimper when one of the men wrenched my arm harder. I nodded.

"Good," said the woman, satisfied. "Come along, now."

I was lead out of the kitchen and into the bright sunlight, which burned my sweaty skin under my ripped shirt. Along the way I observed that this must once have been a flourishing village. The houses must once have been sturdy, with potted flowers, but were now nothing but a collection of collapsing walls and rubble. Some sturdier buildings still stood without showing signs of too much damage, their painted signs barely visible; _Boulangerie, Al's market, and Pharmacia_. Black-clad men lounged in doorways, smoking cigarettes, laughing, and leaning lovingly on their glinting weapons. They turned and watched us pass, whispering to each other. I stared back at them openly and they snickered. If I were to be staying here for any amount of time, I knew that I would have to assert myself somewhere in their hierarchy. They looked like the type that didn't like to be fucked with and enjoyed dealing out shit to the newbie.

All the while we were walking the skinny maid with us kept primping me, smoothing down my hair, adjusting my tattered shirt, wiping blood from my arm. I pushed her away.

"Please, sir," she whispered, "You have to look presentable for Capricorn."

"I've heard enough of this man," I snapped back, keeping my voice low, "But who's that old woman?"

The girl threw a frightened glance at the old woman who was in the lead and whispered back, "That's Mortola. She's the head leader of the maids, but she kinda has a certain power over the men, too. I'm Beckie," she added shyly. "What's your name?"

I didn't have time to tell her how pathetic she was because by now we had reached a huge church like thing. The two men pushed the doors open and I was led down a musty hallway lit by candles and incenses.


	3. The Goat King Man!

Chapter Three

Through the smoke I could make out the faint outline of portraits on the wall, but I could not see their pictures.

We entered a section of the church that was, actually, quite red. Red ceiling, red walls, intricate red carpet. At first I thought I was hallucinating (not to mention the weird angel statue in the corner) but after shaking my head a few times I thought, _yep. This place truly is weird. _

However, there was one thing in the room that was truly the opposite of red. There was a man who was standing in front of a burning brazier; staring into the flames. When he looked at me, I let out a gasp. He skin was indescribably white. The only way that I can truly describe it was like this; it was only one slip darker than milk. Not only that, but he was imposingly tall, and his skin was stretched tight over his body, producing an alert, taut pose, like a dog when it's about to fight another dog. Behind pale cobwebs, his eyes were the color of glinting yet washed-out silver coins. He walked up to me, looking me up and down. _Holy shit_, I thought, _this must be Capricorn_.

"This is the man, Basta?" Capricorn inquired of a man standing on the shallow steps that were carpeted in black. It was the man from the van, the driver. I waved at him and in return he gave me a look of disgust.

"Well…yes…sir, but I assure you he didn't look half as broken when we first found him. Maybe-"

I glared at him. _Really, broken? I'll break _him. However, Capricorn waved his hand to silence him and turned his cold eyes on me. I couldn't help noticing the fact that he was, well, kinda _handsome_, in an authoritative kind of way, off course.

"What's your name?" he asked me, polite enough.

"Vincent, call me Vince," I replied just as politely.

"Well, Vincent-call-me-Vince, would you mind telling us how you got your, eh, injuries?"

I looked around, and I noticed that I had a bit of an audience. Quite a few of the black-clad men were lounging around, sitting at the long benches on either sides of the room or clustered together. There were also a few maids ridding the tables of stained coffee mugs, bread baskets and plates, all the while sneaking awed glances at me. I grinned. Although presumably broken I still had my hard-to- resist-looks.

"What are you grinning for? You had better answer me and quick before I have Basta here drag you behind his car and leave you in a shed for the rest of your short, miserable life." Capricorn's voice was as sharp and precise as a knife and everyone in the room jumped when he spoke.

I frowned for a minute and then looked away. "I killed someone…a few…people actually."

"Why?"

"I…I don't...actually know…"

I gulped, feeling beads of sweat forming on my forehead. How in the world do you tell someone that you think you might be a psychopath?

{{{_I hovered above the bed of a man, knife in hand. He was in his fifties, a heavy man with balding hair. My stomach gave a violent lurch and I retched, right there, besides his bleached mattress. He went on sleeping. I want this, I crave the few minutes of pleasure-laced delirium, the sight of the kill. There was no form of security in the weary apartment, and the locks were so easy to pick. Therefore the pleasure of the kill was just to tempting to resist. I raised the knife and held it above my head in two hands. I began to furiously sing "_Latin Simone_" in a strained voice and when I had sung it three times over, I let the knife own on the chest of the man. His eyes flew open and he let out a scream. But there I was, stabbing. Stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing, I had no control; I could not stop, for now the pleasure, like an orgasm, had hit me. It hurt me and excited me all at once, my breathing became loud and heavy. I ran to the next room and the next and the next, stabbing and breathing and singing and dancing and moaning and stabbing and screaming and …}}}_

I snapped out of my daydream to find everyone staring at me, hushed. Capricorn turned away from me in disgust. "I'm a psychopath."I whispered desperately, but he didn't hear me.

"As you can see, Basta, not only is he broken, but he is also stupid. It-"

"Hey!" I blurted, "Hey, just you watch it. I may be injured but I ain't stupid!"

"As I was saying," he continued calmly "He's stupid, broken, and has not been taught respect. It was ridiculous for you to bring him here because now we have to get rid of him somehow…"

"But, Capricorn!"

Everybody jumped in surprise (again) as Basta leapt forward. Capricorn raised his eyebrows, his mouth parting in surprise and Mortola, standing at the top of the stairs with her arms folded, gave a small "_humph_." Basta himself looked surprised as he stood at the center of attention. Such an outburst seemed very out of character for him.

"Sir, all I'm saying is that we should spare h-"

"Why, Basta, don't tell me that you've taken a _fancy_ to the man?" Mortola's voice was like poison and I wasn't the only one who noticed the double-meaning in her words. Basta clenched his teeth.

"Well, Basta…"Capricorn said, giving him a faint smile that sent a shiver down my spine, "Well, since you've taken such an obvious fancy to this young man, let me give you a little _task_…" Capricorn ran his little pinky over his extremely effeminate lips, thinking. "Here's this; this man here, Vincent was it? Yes, Vincent will become your apprentice. Teach him everything you know and how we do things here. Teach him our routine, how to get people to do what I want, and most importantly teach him how to _start a fire_." I noticed Basta flinch. "Supposedly, he's already a murderer so you won't have to bother with that. If by the end of one week he isn't a fire-raiser that meets my expectations, _kill him_. Understood?"

Basta looked up at Capricorn with pleading eyes that I wouldn't expect out of such man, but then his expression turned cold and he humbly bowed his head.

"I understand."

"Good. You may start his training now. Get out of my site"

I noticed Mortola grinning nastily and realized that she must have held some type of grudge against Basta and found his discomfort all too entertaining.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I am nobody's apprentice. I'm not gonna learn how to be some mindless servant to some goat-king man! What the fuck, just let me go home!" But nobody was listening to me, for Basta had dragged me out of the church and into to bright sunlight.


	4. Let's get started

Chapter Four

As soon as we were through the huge wooden doors without a word Basta turned on his heels and began to walk briskly away.

"Hey!" I said, trying to keep up with him. "I hope you know that I'm not gonna be your apprentice," I stated matter-of-factly.

"I know." He said, not even looking at me. We turned a corner and he began to walk faster. I was panting trying to keep up with him.

"Well, good," I said, slightly caught of guard, "I'll just be out of here then. Good riddance."

It was my turn to walk away. "You know, if you leave before the week is over Capricorn's men will hunt you down and kill you. Now that you've seen what goes on here you either stay or you die." I began to walk slower. "Fuck you," I said over my shoulder. I tripped over my own feet and crashed to the ground. "Ah, come on!" I yelled as I landed on my broken arm. _Dignity_, I reminded myself, _just keep cool_.

By now Basta had stopped walking and was leaning against a wall, watching me. "Your leg's bleeding again," he informed me with a sly smile.

"Fuck," I said again. My pants were beyond washing now. I looked up at him. "Why did you even bring me here in the first place if my only option was to be condemned to death?"

"That's not your only option."

"Oh yeah, become your apprentice." I laughed mockingly, a dry, coughing laugh, as I struggled to get up. "Well there's no fucking way I'm going through with _that_ shit."

"No. I refuse to waste my time teaching you," Now he laughed, "because you're too damn stubborn."

"So why did you bring me here in the first place?" I notice a group of Black Jackets in a corner, watching us. Basta noticed them too and gave them a dark look. They turned away, smiling. Fearfully.

"I don't know. I…the reason was stupid."

"So now you're just gonna let me die? Come on!"

I seriously began to panic. My life was in his hands and he knew it. If he chose to train me and everything turned out all right I would have a place to live free of police, laws, and all that general stuff. Plus, with him as my tutor I would somehow vaguely be protected from all the other Black Jackets who wanted to deal out shit to me just because I was the new kid. However, if he refused me and I stayed in the village I would be 1.) Ordered to be killed by or 2.) Tortured roguishly by Capricorn's men. However if Basta refused and I left the village I would be A.) Caught by the police and definitely be killed on the spot or B.) Be hunted down and caught by Capricorn's men and go back to options one and two. Not to mention my injuries made me liable to any and all threats.

Basta seemed to know this. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration as he determined my fate. His silver-green eyes were like bullets embedding themselves in my dark brown ones.

"Please," I said, throwing aside my vanity. "Please, Basta. I'm sorry…I won't be stubborn. Just…God!" I massaged my forehead with my one working hand. This didn't feel right. I _never _was without my vanity and I _never_ apologized. But I knew his type. Like a woman, they wanted you to beg.

Basta sighed and mumbled something. I noticed a small black pouch hanging from a string tied around his neck. To distract myself from humiliation, I pondered its meaning when he said.

"All right. All right." He cursed and spat on the ground. "All right, I will train you. But you will have to work hard, harder than you ever worked in your puny years of life. You will not question my methods and you will do what I say without complaint. Got it, hotshot?"

I nodded, but avoided his eyes. He grabbed my chin with steel hands and forced me to look up. I was slightly surprised that his hands were scorching hot and not cold like steel should be.

"This is your life that I am saving and my time that I am wasting, so of course you're going to have to pay a high price. Right now you nod your head willingly, but that's because you don't know the type of Hell that I will put you through, teaching you to be a suitable Fire-Raiser for Capricorn, you better work hard and diligently, for the minute you slack off I will cut off both of your arms and abandon you in the street. I will only ask you once; are you sure you want to go through with this?"

_ Which is better_, I thought, _Hell or Death itself? If I was going to go through with this, Hell was the two words "_hard work_" and Basta was the devil. Oh what the fuck, why not?_

I nodded. "I do…er…I mean yes, yes I will."

"Okay then," he growled. "Let's get started."


	5. Spotlight as Hot as Stars

Chapter Five

It was still sorta daytime in Capricorn's village. It was around six thirty, actually. The first thing Basta did was show me the main points of the village. It wasn't a luxurious tour or anything, just a "Here's Capricorn's house; do not go in there. Here's the church; the place for breakfast, lunch, dinner and announcements. Here's the place where you will most likely be doing duty da-di-da-di-da." In truth I wasn't really paying attention. I was making my own mental map of the more important stuff like where the rowdiest Black Jacket men hung out, places to hide if things got too hot, stuff like that.

"Where do we keep prisoners?"

I snapped out of observation and blinked stupidly at him "Huh?"

"Stupid. You weren't listening." He said, snapping out his knife.

I squared myself up and puffed, "I was too listening. The place to have a conversation with Capricorn is-"

"Wrong!" he yelled. "Let's go have dinner."

The church was already full when we entered it. Basta got us a seat at the far end of one of the tables, hidden partially in shadows. From the corner of my eye I saw some of the men nudge each other and point at us but Basta seemed immune to this shit. Coolly, he took a sip of coffee from the stained mug before him and inspected the plate in front of him. It was filled with pasta, some type of meat, and fresh salad. My plate was he same and so was everyone else's. I took a roll of bread from a basket and stuffed it in my mouth.

"Is dinner always this luxurious?" I asked, spitting crumbs everywhere. Basta glowered at me as a wet crumb landed on his napkin.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?" he mocked.

"No." I said, taking another roll and stuffing it into my already full mouth. "My mother was a hooker; I had to teach _her_ manners."

I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw a little smile flicker over Basta's mouth. He took a tense sip of coffee.

"Well then," he said, "I think I've figured out a schedule for you. Are you listening?"

"Wha? Yeah. This pasta's really good."

"There are six more days left. Today was a total waste, so I won't count it. Tomorrow I will teach you the art of knife-throwing. The day after that I will teach you how to bargain well and threat even better. Then I will teach you to murder. How to capture someone and single-handedly make them do what you want. I will have someone teach you fire and on the last day I will have you run one of Capricorn's errands for me. What are you staring at?" he snapped.

"Nothing," I said looking away, but he had followed my gaze. His eyebrows rose.

"Resa?" he laughed. "Oh no, no, no. Don't even think about it."

"What did you think I was thinking?" I growled, throwing another glance at the maid in the corner. When she saw me she smiled and sorta waved.

"Listen to me!" Basta said, grabbing my chin in his hand. "That girl is mine. Yeah, I'll teach you and what not but if you even talk to her, petty boy, you'll regret being as crippled as you are."

I was about to say, "NO, I'm not crippled; I just have a paralyzed arm, a leg with a hole in it, and a ripped-open chest." But somebody caught his attention before me.

"Basta?" An alto voice growled.

Basta didn't even bother to look up. "Go away Cockerell."

I looked over his shoulder at the three men advancing towards us. One was a HUGE, tall beanpole with thick arms and a squashed nose, the other was a pale man whose face reminded me of a skeleton and the other (the one who had spoken) was a sinister-looking man who walked with a limp. He grinned at me.

"Oh, I just wanted to check on your broken marionette here," he drawled lazily. I hated his voice. It was too thick.

Basta remained cool, not even looking at the smirking men. He gave me a look that said _chill; these guys are nothing but crackheads. _I for one was not gonna chill. I was born hot, not chilly chill chill. I gave him a cocky smile.

"Hmmmmmm, broken marionette he says. Cockerell was it? Nice name but may I ask how you got it? Is it because you have the limping swagger of an overgrown cock? Hmmm?" I sipped my coffee, watching as the man turned red as the others laughed. Some of the surrounding men turned to watch me curiously. It was attention, and I loved attention. Why not give them a little show and maybe impress Resa in the bargain? I gave an exaggerated laugh.

"Oh yeah, and you!" I pointed at the pale man. "Can I call you Skeletor or something? Cause it looks like your mama loved a man but ended fucking the Grim Reaper instead!" There was more laughter as all eyes were set on me. From the corner of my eye I saw Resa covering her mouth, giggling. Basta was giving me a strange look. Skeletor growled.

"Yeah, and for my final achievement! You sir, let me tell you about your family. Your Grand-Daddy was 68% oaf, your uncle was the world's tallest man in 1996 and your mother, ooh, she had a nasty pig fetish. She must always have one at six in the morning, if you know what I mean." The flat-nosed man burst out laughing but choked on his spit when he realized that I was talking about him.

And there I was. I had done it. There wasn't one person in the room who wasn't laughing or trying to stifle a giggle. Except for Basta. And Cockerell. And…Skeletor…and Flatnose. They were all staring at me with a strange concentration. Cockerell turned towards Basta. "Leave him." I heard him say through the midst of laughter, "He'll be more trouble than he's worth. Just you wait and see." And with that, he and his crew left.

Basta was still wearing that strange look on his face long after the laughter had died down. It was a look between intense concentration and confusion…maybe even anger. I stared at my empty plate, stirring around a lone string of pasta. He hadn't even touched his food; he just had taken small sips of coffee the whole meal time.

"You remind me so much of me…" he mumbled.

"Excuse me?" I asked, looking up suspiciously. He shook his head. "Nothing," he mumbled.

There was an awkward silence. Suddenly he looked up, all traces of anger and confusion melted away.

"You have a sharp tongue. That may be useful later in life. But that was a stupid time to use it. A.) you are a newbie and these men want nothing more than to test your limits. And B.) Cockerell never…_ever_ forgets. He'll get revenge even if it takes a year."

Basta took another sip and watched me pondering this. "Yeah, well he won't hurt me. Not if I'm your apprentice." I said.

"Yeah…well… maybe." Basta stood up abruptly. "Let's go."

I followed him out of the church and into the warm night. As we walked I looked up at the night sky. It was beautiful, really. The moon was full and shining so brightly that it positively lit up the sky around it in a silver aura. The stars were clustered around it, each trying to out shine each other, but each looking especially beautiful. I shivered. I noticed Basta looking at the moon, too, his face focused and handsome in its pale light. When he caught me watching him he looked away.

"What does the moon make you think of?" I asked just to distracted myself. He surprised me by answering.

"Life. The end of it. When people think of death they usually think of a pearl white spirit floating up to some type of heavenly light that resembles the moon. But what about the blackness that surrounds it, the night I mean? When…I die…I don't want to go to the light. When it's my calling, I want to go to the blackness that is the night…just to see how it feels." He paused, as if he had said too much. "What about you?" he asked, uncertainly.

"I think of death, too. I see the moon as a beautiful non-human being that everybody wants to go to. The stars remind me of little voices. _Send them to us_, they beg me, _send them to the moon, please Vincent._ The stars beg me to set the people free, to help them leave their mortal prisons, so that the people's souls can float into the night and become stars themselves, so they can be close to the moon. That's why I kill."

There was a silence, so pure that I could hear Basta breathing. "Perhaps," he said, so low that I had lean forward to hear him, "Perhaps we are more alike than I thought."

We continued walking in a meditative silence until we reached a small house. He led me blindly through dark rooms until my foot banged on something hard.

"Ow," I said.

"You'll be sleeping on the couch tonight or until I can find you a new house. Consider yourself lucky, I never, ever let anyone into my house."

I felt around until I found the cold cushions and let myself down on them with a sigh. I listened to his footsteps retreating until something occurred to me.

"Basta?"

"What?" his voice was faraway, distant.

"I can move my arm again! My left one, I mean. You know, the one that was paralyzed?"

This time I was sure of it. I heard him chuckle. A low, dark "m-hm-hm-hm" in his throat.

"Good night, asshole."


	6. Daytime thrills and Nighttime Kills

**IMPORTANT INFO REGARDING Random sexual nonsense. Okay, this is actually quite important and I know you want to get back to the story so I'll make it quick. Somewhere near the end of this chapter there will be a passage where Vincent is sitting on the bed with Basta. There will be emotions and gestures that Vincent will make that may seem sexual but they are not in anyway sexual towards Basta. These are the feelings he get when he has the feeling that he wants to (ahem) kill someone. However, Basta's heart-felt words may have merely (sparked?) the emotion within him. Lastly, at the last passage where he's about to kill a man it may seem like it he has sex with he man before hand BUT THAT IS NOT TRUE. Why would you have sex with someone before you kill them? Wait…..Okay, I just really wanted to clear that up for any of you sensitive readers. Go on ahead and keep reading .Go on. Shoo shoo. **

** Extra: As sort of an author's note for anyone who found the passage above interesting let me just rant a bit…My character, Vincent, as you know, is a psychopath. My definition of psychopath: a person who kills without feeling or with passion. Vincent, and this may seem weird and perverted to you, views killing as sex (oooooooooooooh!) The whole emotional and physical aspect to him is very sexual, so that is why in some of his murder scenes he will be described as "aroused" and "caressing" whatnot. Sorry. It was just a trait I wanted him to have. This author is a pervert, I guess…**

Chapter Six

Is it humanely possible to spend the whole day (by whole day I mean 6:00 in the morning to 11:00 at night) learning The Way of the Knife? Yeah, apparently it is. Damn it.

Okay, so the first thing the bloody motherfucker (Basta) did was wake me up by giving me a thin cut on my arm with some type of blade. Before I could protest he was all like, "This is what you'll be learning all about today. Get up and get dressed." And I, being myself, went right back to sleep. So then he went and gave me a cut on my neck and started cursing me out, which prompted me to curse him out, which earned me another knife-attack. Lovely way to spend the morning, yes, I know. I sauntered into the bathroom and was momentarily stunned. It was scrubbed _spotless_. I could literally see my reflection on the tile floor. I think I must have screamed or something because Basta started cursing me out again.

"Hey, Basta! Are these for me?" I yelled out of the bathroom door, spotting a pile of clothes near the sink.

"Yeah, damn it! And stop all of that fucking screaming, ass hole! I don't tolerate such noise in the morning, god damn it! And hurry up!"

Oh, _someone _wasn't a morning person.

I peeled off my bloody clothes and carefully stepped in the shower. It's ridiculous, but for a moment I was afraid that all of that shininess would swallow me up. You know, like a vortex or something? Anyway, the steaming water felt _really_ good on my sore skin. At first it stung my wounds, but eventually the pain melted away and worked wonders on my flesh. I gave a muffled _Aaaah _and imagined standing like this forever. Naked and steaming. _Sssssss, aaaaaah. Yessssss_. I was woken out of my fantasy by Basta banging at the door. "Hurry up, idiot! And don't even think about using my soap." I guiltily put the green bar of soap (of which I had been scrubbing my back with) back on the ledge and stepped out. I dressed quickly and was bout to fly out of the door when I stopped to look in the mirror. I gasped at my reflection. All cleaned up and refreshed I really looked …well…handsome, I guess. I ran my hand around my chin, my cheeks, and my eyebrows to be sure that the man in the mirror was really me. I always knew that I was attractive, but the man staring back at me had some type of beautiful seductively that was dark, dirty and _vicious_. I think it was the shape of my face. See, my face has a distinct shapely-ness about it. It's very slender with a sharp chin, prominent cheekbones and a pleasantly rounded forehead. My lips were thin and a rather fleshy pink color, but they complimented my sharp nose. I liked my hair. It was ink black bordering dark-chocolate brown and it retired below my ears with a kind of wind-blown waterfall look. I would have gone into detail about my body but by now Basta had slammed open the door and was dragging me outside. I noticed that his house was really _too_ clean, overly-scrubbed and dusted. Maybe he had OCD?

The rest of the day passed in a cool blur, though. From 6:00 to 8:00 AM he talked to me about the Importance of the knife and whatnot. During breakfast at 7:30 he, literally, sat there in front of an untouched plate of food and continued his lecture over sips of coffee. Cockerell and his crew were noticeably quite, watching me. The rest of the day was learning how to use the knife. It was REALLY cool, actually, he taught me how to aim at a victim from far away, different ways to cut the flesh, different positions to hold the knife in, etc. We practiced by a nearby river where we used tree trunks as practice aim and pretend flesh. Sometimes a minnow or some other water-creature would swim by and I was expected to skewer it while standing at different levels of distances. I learned very fast, even Basta was surprised at my natural talent and the eagerness in which I approached knife-throwing. I, for one, found it fun to throw a knife, imagining the terror in my victim's eyes as they begged me not to slash up their face. By 11:00 I could skewer a water-bug standing 14 feet away in the dark. I could cut four centimeters into a tree trunk with just one swoop and knew fifteen positions to hold the knife in when countering an attack. Even Basta had to admit that I had passed him up. Almost.

This was a piece of cake.

Back at the house, Basta was smiling. He was actually, literally, smiling. "Wow." He said for the millionth time, looking at me through the dark. After a long day's work we were chilling outside of his house, leaning against the wall and breathing in the scents of the night. He lit a cigarette, paused a moment, and then handed me one. "To a successful first day." He said, lighting my cigarette. For a moment, when he leaned over to light me up, I thought I saw a hint of fear in his eyes. I was surprised until I realized his gaze was leveled at the flaring lighter. Strange. But as soon as he flicked it shut he relaxed and he returned back to his content self.

"Damn. I have never met someone as talented as you when it comes to knives, besides me, that is." I watched as white smoke came tumbling, rolling, curling, and frolicking from his nostrils and mouth when he spoke. I myself took a drag on my cigarette, its sweet-spicy smoke filling every inch of my lungs like boiling water. I exhaled with a low _aaaaah _and watched as the smoke disintegrated into the chilly night.

"You know, back where I come from, there was this man called the Black Prince, right? And he was a really good knife thrower. It was said that he could aim at a dragonfly's eye and hit it and I believe it! Ha, now in a few more months if you were to go there, I bet you'd give that man a run for his money." Basta continued, grinning.

"Just where exactly are you from? Ireland or something?" I asked. He laughed, not a low chuckle but a full-on _Ha ha ha_ that echoed through the silent night. It was weird, though. I detected a slight accent in his speech, but it was one that I had never heard before…out of this world, almost.

"Do I look Irish?" he paused and listened to gunshots in the distance. When all was silent again he took a step closer to me and put a hand on my shoulder, "No, but seriously though. What you did out there today was…amazing. I've never met a man like you before. Just like me, you were born with the feeling of a knife already in your hand. I must admit, at first I underestimated you, but-"

"Do you smell peppermint?" I asked. Basta's hand slid off my shoulder and for a minute he looked so taken back that I thought that maybe he'd seen a ghost or something, but after a few seconds he leaned back against the wall and spat something greenish on the ground. "Yeah," he said, gesturing to the oozing mass, "that's what you smell. A woman I'd once tried to kiss told me that I had bad breath, so ever since then I chew peppermint leaves all day. It…it's a habit."

"Women," I noted sympathetically, "They're the same everywhere." And then I thought of the blonde maid, Resa, and a shiver went down my spine.

"Yeah," Basta said, distractedly, "Well, I'm going to bed. Don't stay out too late, tomorrow I'll be waking you up early again."

He trod out his cigarette and retreated indoors. I stared after him in surprise. His tone of voice implied that he was back to his old self. Cold, Iron, metallic. Was it something that I said? I stayed out looking at the stars for a few more minutes before turning back and heading inside. I lay on the couch, pondering his weird behavior. An hour later I was still up, pacing. What had I done wrong? I decided to find out.

Basta's house was small. It was mainly composed of a small "living room" which was really nothing more that the entranceway from the doorway, and small kitchen and a bathroom. The stairs groaned piteously when I tread on them and were so old and weak that I thought I'd fall through. Turned out the whole upstairs was composed of just one bedroom and an in-wall closet on one side. There wasn't even a window. I spotted Basta in a lone bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Basta?"

"What?" he reared up. "What the hell? Go to bed!"

"Sorry. I can't sleep and neither can you by the looks of it."

There was a growing feeling in my stomach, but I refused to acknowledge it. He lay back down and sighed.

"What do you want?" he asked his hands.

"You seemed angry at me earlier, I wanted to know why?" Yes. It was definitely _the_ feeling. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and rocked back and forth. I heard him sigh again.

"Go to h-It was nothing, okay? Go to sleep now."

There was a silence. I felt my stomach tighten as sweat began to run down my skin. I tried to ignore The Feeling, but instead of going away, it grew. I let out a groan. _Not now. Please, God not now_.

Basta hadn't noticed my discomfort yet.

"Basta?" I said threw clenched teeth.

"Hmmm?"

My mind raced for something to distract myself. "So...um…why…why did you pick me up in the first place? Yeah, that's it. That day you saw me running, why did you even bother to pick me up? I mean, you didn't even know me."

Basta turned his head to me really, really slowly. It was impossible for him not to notice my wet face or clenched arms, but with glazed eyes his mind was somewhere else.

"It's not that easy, Vince. It's not that easy to explain…"

"Please!" I gushed, begging him. I looked around. I knew what I was looking for, but I tried not to see it.

"Okay. Okay, fine. You want to know, I'll tell you." He swung his legs out of the bed and ran a weary hand through his hair. "Vincent? You…remind me so much of me. Everything about you…reminds me of me when I was a young man; cocky, but lost to the world. I was driven by hate and I think that that drove me to turn to knife-wielding as my passion. When I was out there teaching you I saw the same thing in your eyes; hate and hunger to learn and the feeling of…male hate and youthful vengeance. Back in my world, the day that I ran from the world a man stopped me and from then on became my savior. So, the day I saw you running down the street with blood on your skin and flames in your eyes I…wanted to be your savior, too. I-Vincent are you alright?"

That's it. His words flicked the match of passion within me. When he touched my shoulder, the gasoline leaked from his fingers, seeped through my skin, and poured itself in my belly, making The Feeling flare, roar, and crackle like a hungry beast.

I jumped from the bed with a roar and ran to his drawer, tipping the whole thing on its side. I pulled each file out, dumping clothes on the ground, searching.

"Where is it?" I roared at him. For a minute I saw my wild, desire-distorted face in his fearful eyes.

"Vincent! Wha-"At that moment his knife slid from the pillow and fell onto the ground with a loud clatter. I pounced on it, and was out the door, his calling my name echoing madly in my ears.

_Give up, if you want to survive._

_Basta's Point of View_

_**{{ **__I saw him standing at the edge of the bed. The man in bed was sleeping peacefully, every so often mumbling something in his sleep. Vincent stood over him, shirtless and sweating. He was cooing to the man in a way that a molester would to a child or a lover would to their partner after sex .Every few minutes he would reach out and touch the sleeping man in a way that hinted arousal. He would tousle his hair, rub his belly, pat his crotch, and kiss his legs. I stepped closer to get a better view, but Vincent snapped his head up and looked at me so icily that my heart gave an extra loud thump in my chest and I backed up. Something was wrong with him. His eyes were the eyes of a beast; they were…the eyes of a true psychopath. The man in bed was a Black Jacket named Silaa. He was a cheerful chap from this world who was not particularly handsome, however, Vincent slipped in between his legs as eagerly as if he were the most beautiful man in the world. I watched, numb, as Vincent raised the knife, my old knife, high over his head._

_I looked away._

_416 times._

_Is it possible to stab a man 416 time? No. Not unless you're possessed.__**}}**_

Back to Vincent's Point of View

Me. Vince-not-Vincent. Mr…Swagger.

Sitting on the steps of some poor man's house.

I knew what I had done. The smell of blood on my hands, the look in Basta's eye's as he stroked my hair, the glinting knife in front of me.

Not again! Please! Please, why me?

I lowered my head and wept.

It felt _so_ good.


	7. The Assault

Chapter Seven

**Golly almighty! PHEWWWW! I'm glad this chapter's over and done with! (Takes a deep breath of fresh air and ends up choking.) I don't even know why it was so hard to write it! It was like every time I put my fingers on the keyboard all of my ideas just flew out of my head….have you ever had a time like that? Off course you have. You're a writer. It's called WRITER'S BLOCK! But you already know that. I got it bad especially towards the actual assault scene (which you'll read.) I found it a pain in the butt to try and find the right words that would fit together and form the scene. So if my writing style gets kind of awkward and shifts a bit during the assault scene, forgive me. I was suffering a major case of WRITER'S BLOCK** **of which I have yet to recover. I think. Yeah.**

Ho-kay, let's fast-forward three days. Yeah, I was slow when it came to the "art" of bargaining, but I passed by the end of the day. Threatening came easy to me because I had some type of talent to direct my fury through my words and make them cut like a knife. The lesson of capturing someone and single-handedly make them do what you want was fun because Basta actually took me out to the city and we practiced on random victims.

The morning of the day in which Basta was to teach me murder (my forth day of training) there was a silent air between us. He knew that I knew that I could kill, but I did it in a different way and there was nothing he could really teach me when it came to taking a life. That morning he didn't even bring up the subject, he just went about silently cleaning the house as I sat on the couch and stared at my hands.

There was an awkward silence tinged by fear between us.

Luckily there was a loud banging at the door to snap us out of our stupor. "Oi! Basta! Get your ugly ass out here! Capricorn thinks you've been skipping out on your duty and boy is he pissed!" Basta threw open the door and there stood Skeletor himself. He threw a glance at me. "He wants you in his office," he said more humbly as Basta's vicious gaze rested on him.

Turns out what he said was true. Once in Capricorn's office Capricorn started yelling his head of about Basta's apprenticing me as an excuse to skip his duties. The rant lasted for maybe half an hour before he turned Basta out to make up for all of the work he had skipped. One of his "chores" was to _exterminate_ a man in Iglasio. He took me with him and it could be said that that was my training right there.

But that's not really important. The most important day of my life at the village happened on the fifth day. It was the day that Basta was supposed to teach me fire. That morning when I asked him about it he got all edge-y and started cursing at nothing in general. "Actually," he had said between random profanities, packing a small bag. "Me and a few guys have an, er, errand to run a few miles away from here. I'm leaving it up to Antonio to teach you."

I would have noticed the slightly panicked look in Basta's eyes when I said the word "fire," but a thought was slowly forming in my head.

"Wait, so if you'll be gone…" my voice trailed of unsurely. Basta looked up at me in surprise. He, too, had had the same thought.

"Oh, no, no. Cockerell and the others…they'll be gone to."

"Oh, okay." We stared at each other and then looked away uncomfortably. He slung the bag over is shoulder and looked hard at me. "Vince, I won't always be here to protect you, you know. In fact, after this whole…I…we can't be friends. It's not that I don't like you; it's just that that's the way the things are, in this village. I have a status to maintain. I…"

He reached for the doorknob, but stopped and looked back at me with pained eyes. "It's not that easy, Vince. Please believe me when I say that."

And then he was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the room, open mouthed. The bitch.

But wait, that's not even the best part. Just wait until Basta gets into the van and realizes that a certain someone is missing.

Turns out Antonio, his dumb self, didn't come until sometime after lunch. When he arrived, his mouth reeked of alcohol and his clothes smelt of sweat and filth. "Eh, Basta want me to learn you fire?" he asked. He had a heavy Italian accent that was hard to understand and his yellow eyes were half-dead. Damn Basta for sending him to me.

We walked down the street in an awkward silence for a while. "How are you?" he asked, spitting unhealthy looking white bile into his hand. He gestured to my wounds with the other hand. I could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Obviously better than you." I spat back. I was about to add another nasty comment but something had caught my eye. There, in the shadows in an alley. There was a swift movement, like something-or someone-scurrying. I could have sworn that I saw pale flesh in those shadows. I shuddered and rubbed my injured arm.

Meanwhile, Antonio had seen it too. He seemed jumpy now and walked faster, trying to get away from the shadows. "The first object about fire is to tame it." We both looked over our shoulder as the sound of terra cotta breaking caught our attention.

"You need to lead it and no afraid."

"Mm-hm," I said distractedly. There was no doubt about it now. There was definitely someone stalking us. Damn, why hadn't Basta given me his extra knife?

"_Because you're gonna get careless with it, you asshole." He had said, fingering the dusty blade._

Hmm, yes, I definitely could have used it when a scratchy voice behind us said, "Don't worry, Antonio. _Marionette_ here has a different lesson that he has to learn today."

And that's when strong hands grabbed me from behind.

Basta's Point of View

_How much longer did he have to sit in this stuffy car, surrounded by drugged-up crack-heads with smelly breath and smelly bodies? He sighed and rolled the window down, but the air was even hotter outside than in the car. His thoughts began to stray to the man back at the village and he vaguely wondered how he was doing; Vince-no-,-not-Vincent. He was a good student. He'd definitely make a top Black Jacket one day, and when he did maybe, just maybe, they could be friends. As uncomfortable as it made him, he had to admit that he and Vince had _already _become good friends. They both had sad stories to tell and street glories to admire. Vince had told him about his fucked-up life starting with his ill, hooker-of-a-mother down to his gangster-wannabe father and ultimately ending with life all alone in the streets. In return he had told him about his life, his normal but tense family, his fear of curses and blackness within, how he met Capricorn. But he left about the part of about coming from the Inkworld. He wouldn't tell him, not for a long time._

_ Meanwhile, the men behind him had started up a perverted bragging contest. He doubted that most of the bedroom-related shit of which they so proudly boasted of was actually true. He knew Emmett would brag of the most disgusting thing, Benardo would brag of the most unbelievable, and Cockerell would brag of the most sensual. Cockerell…_

_Wait._

_ He wrenched around in his seat and scrutinized the men behind him. "Where are they?" he demanded so loudly that everyone jumped. The van swerved and almost collided with the car besides it._

_ "Who?" Emmett asked fearfully, dropping his cigarette and throwing a glance at his companions._

_ "De…Cockerell, Flatnose and Skeletor!" He said impatiently. Bernado, the current driver, threw a sideways glance at him. "Who's Skeletor?" With a roar, Basta pulled out his knife and leveled it at the man's Adam's apple._

_ "Where are Cockerell, Flatnose, and Al?" he said slowly. He forced himself to breath normally. "Are they in the other car?"_

_ "N-no, man. They persuaded Capricorn at the last minute to let them stay behind in the village. I don't know why," Bernardo said, glancing from the road, to him, and to the silent men in the back seat._

_His hand shook._

_So Vince was back in the village. Alone and Unprotected. And no doubt Cockerell would get his revenge at long last. He looked at Bernado, Fulvio, and Emmett with clenched teeth. Each man saw the fear in his eyes._

"_Basta?"_

"_Is it too late to turn back?" he asked, mouth dry._

"_About forty miles too late?"_

_Shit. What had he done? Oh, Vincent. What had he done?_

Vincent's Point of View

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I roared as my face was ground into the hot asphalt.

"Awww. Don't tell me you don't remember us?" The man's breath was hot and sour in my ear. He stood me up and grinned at me. It was Cockerell, flanked by Skeletor and Flatnose.

"Remember? The man with a limp like a cock-"

"The man with the slut-of-a-mom-"

"And the man with an, um, uh…what was it?"

They laughed as Skeletor commenced in tying my wrist behind my back. "WHAT…THE…FUCK?" I screamed again, but they weren't paying any attention to me.

"Antonio, go home! Why are you still standing around, then?"

I looked at Antonio and he looked at me. _I'm sorry,_ his dead eyes said pathetically and he scurried off. "Now," Cockerell said standing above me with a self-satisfied smile on his thin lips. "How do you think we felt that day you called us all those mean names? Maybe, maybe we felt like his?" He wound his fist back and then-POW-punched me square in the stomach. I keeled over, gaping like a fish but unable to move because I had been tied and held down by Flatnose.

"Please, I-"

"Or maybe we felt something like this?" This time he aimed and kicked me in the balls. I actually did scream. In pain.

They laughed again as they watched me crumble to my knees, hands tied behind my back. "Ooh, right in the balls," Skeletor said, unsheathing his knife. My mouth dropped open at the sight of it.

"You wouldn't!" I asked, begged, desperately.

"No, the fact is you didn't hurt us at all with your words that one day. We were just more…angered by them. Why would we be hurt? Sticks and stones might break your bones, but it's knives that cause all those groans. Is that how it goes? No? Well, how about we test my theory out?"

I seriously began to panic as Skeletor ran the flat edge of the blade down my nose, across my cheek, between my lips. I was a psychopath, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm a good fighter! Okay, if I saw someone on the street who wanted to start somethin', I could probably bust him up pretty good, but these were three full grown nasty men with weapons and desire for revenge. Plus I was tied and held down.

"Guys, please-" I cried on the verge of tears.

"I want you to taste your own blood." Skeletor replied sweetly, leaning over me. He ran the knife over my upper lip and immediately blood started dripping out and into my mouth. But instead of pain, the sweet blood had reminded me of something…_Angry faces…..A lot of shouting…Dogs barking. Blood, blood, blood. Blood on my pants, splattered over my ribs, trickling down my arm….._

The day that I ran from the police. The day that started it all.

If I could escape twenty policemen, five patrol cars, and six German shepherds then I could surely escape this.

I took a breath in and slowly looked up. The others had begun laughing about something else but I only had eyes for Flatnose. He was the one holding me down with both ham-sized hands clutching my upper arms. I tightened the muscles in my shoulder, gouging the strength of his grip. I heard him laugh his weird nasally laugh.

And then…there! His grip relaxed just a little.

Immediately I threw myself forward out of his grip and then sprang back so that the crown of my head rammed right into the middle of his giant face. He jumped back and howled in pain, covering his bleeding nose.

Meanwhile the others had sprung forward, knives in hand. I threw myself face down onto the ground and rolled like a child (or a bowling ball, which ever way you want to put it) underneath their surprised feet and sent them tumbling down like bowling pins. I could almost imagine the sound.

Immediately I was on my feet and began to run (hop) awkwardly with both hands behind my back. I heard them cursing as they picked themselves up, but I was already around the next corner. I knew that any second they would catch up with my three-legged dog gait so I slammed myself into the nearest street door. It wouldn't budge. I tried the next one. That one wouldn't budge, either. With a roar of frustration I threw myself against it again with all of my remaining might, breaking healing ribs and sending jolts of pain up my arm. The door flew open and I was sent tumbling in. I jumped up and wedged myself behind the open door as voices came nearer.

"There he goes!" That was Skeletor.

"Where, you idiot?" That was obviously Cockerell

"I….I dunno, man. He just…..disappeared!"

"He can't have disappeared, you thrice accursed son of a bitch! Where'd he go!"

"I just saw him, I swear. He just…"

Where was Flatnose?

` I heard their voices rise and fade as they passed the house. I waited fifty seconds before crawling out and closing the door.

I yelped when I noticed someone else in the room with me.

It was a maid, the damn things.

She was young, maybe even fifteen and was staring at me with wide-eyes. "Untie me!" I commanded her in a whisper. She shook her head and backed a way. I looked around at the dilapidated house of which I had come into. What business did she have here?

"Please untie me! If you don't, those men out there will do bad things to me. Do you want them to do bad things to me? Untie me, bitch!"

The girl just backed up until her back was against the crumbling wall and began to cry. No doubt I was a scary sight to her what with my bleeding face and half-crazed-with-fear look. I watched her scoot towards the door, silently weeping like someone had died, without even making eye-contact with me. Without thinking I threw myself at her, leaning on her so that I pinned all my weight on her with my shoulders yet our hearts beat together. I whispered low and seductively in her ear. "Can you feel my heart?" I felt her nod against my chest. "Good. Do you hear how our hearts beat together?" She nodded again and I glanced out the small window with worry.

"Yes. It's like…_bum-badomp-bum-badomp_." She sniffled and smiled up at me. Soothed by my voice.

"Good. Now if you don't untie me these men will find me and make sure that my heart will never beat like this again. Do you want that? Me neither, but you have to untie me. Capiche?"

She nodded. "Capiche."

Shyly she began to untie the tough knots with her little fingers. All the while I kept my eyes on the little window. No sound out of the ordinary reached my ears; the murmur of men's voices, an occasional drunken laugh, car tires on the stony paths, they all went on as usual. When she was finished I stretched my arms and flexed like a cat.

"Now what am I going to do?" I whispered to myself as I peeked out of the door. A group of Black Jackets passed by the door, laughing and shouting, and I retreated, my heart beating like a drum rolling down a staircase.

"Promise you won't tell?" A small voice said. I looked behind in surprise at the maid. She had her hands folded in front of her, eyes glued on mine.

"Uh, tell what?" I looked back out the door.

"I come here sometimes when I'm sad. I used to live in this village when I was a toddler. When Capricorn's men took over they destroyed the house and killed my family but kept me as a maid. I've lived here ever since, in Capricorn's house, I mean."

I looked around at the crumbling house in surprise. The walls were dusty and cracked but were faintly yellow like they had been painted. Flowery wallpaper bordered the ceiling and an overturned cabinet still held traces of cracked china. I saw that a little altar had been set up in the corner; a baby bottle, a ripped and burnt photograph, a musty blanket, and a broken sewing machine. I felt a little twang in my chest. This girl obviously once had a loving, caring family but now they had been reduced to baby bottles and broken china. I had a family and although they were ultimately drugged-up prostitutes and pimps at least they were a family, they were real human beings that I could actually talk to and have them talk back (even if all they had to say was that I'm a ho.) I swallowed hard and looked away.

"I have to go." I said.

"You're the only one who I've ever told-"

"I have to go!" I opened the door with a sense of urgency.

"Vince, please-"

I edged myself out of the house and into the Italian sunlight. I looked left and right and began to creep along the old walls. Surprisingly there was no one on the path but me, so naturally my hesitant steps echoed louder than usual. My plan was to creep into Capricorn's house (where there were no other Black Jackets, for sure.) There I could either hide for a while and try to figure things out or I could go straight to Capricorn and tell him what's going on. Interesting, though, if I hadn't been so busy making mental plans I would have spotted the imposing figures before they saw me. In a second they had all grabbed a part of m body and were hauling me kicking and screaming into the nearest abandoned building. "Shut up!" Cockerell yelled in my face but I refused. I went on hollering and crying out with the stupid hopes that someone would hear me. Enraged, Cockerell ripped off a part of my shirt and stuffed it so far down into my throat that tears immediately sprang into my eyes and then he had some how magically produced a roll of duct tape and had rolled it over my mouth, securing the cloth in place. But I would not hold still. I began to kick and flail for my life, for sure getting some good kicks in. They almost let me go.

_Almost_.

But not quite.

Because that's when they really went crazy.

I guess that my non-ceasing fighting set them of. All of a sudden they went after my body like madmen; clawing at my skin, stomping on my stomach, and ripping off my clothes. They were drunk with anger, intoxicated with rage and they went after my naked, bloody body with boots, fists, and knives. For the second time in my life I felt as if my flesh were set on fire with pain, I felt each individual rib that cracked, I felt my skin being torn on the bloody asphalt. And I thought to myself, _why? Why me? Why, God? Why me?_


	8. Basta: The Curiously Courageous Coward

Chapter Eight

_He ran. He ran like he never ran before. He ran. And would not stop running._

_ Panting, he rounded a corner, looking. Looking for anything. Looking for something. Looking for someone. Trying to find Vincent. He hadn't been at the house and Antonio was no where to be found, either. Nor were the other three._

_Where was he?_

_Where was Vincent?_

He tripped over his own feet and was sent sprawling. Gasping, he flung himself back up. Where was Vincent? He had to find him!

Basta knew a thing or two about premonitions and bad luck and right now he could practically feel the misfortune lingering in the air, he could hear the curse in the doorways and see the laughing demons in the men's faces. He had seen the black cat sitting on the wall, he saw himself running in the shadows, he had felt that old women's ghost breathing on his shoulder (the one who had fell dead under the full moon.)

They were all signs. They were all trying to warn him of disaster. Where was Vincent?

Basta made the noise you make when you're about to sneeze and fell tired against a crumbling wall. In his mind he was still running but his body had collapsed on him. If he didn't find Vincent soon he would round up a search party and search every single abandoned house if he had to, damn it! Knowing Cockerell, Vincent was probably drowned in a river somewhere, burnt and disfigured.

"Basta?" a shy voice called. He spun around.

"What?" he roared.

A little maid stepped out of a house and watched him from the doorway.

"Can you save him?"

Basta ignored her and put his head in his hands. This was strange. Maids never talked to him much less came within five feet of him. But this one, hand on the doorway, looked at him with such a pained expression that he couldn't bear to look at her.

"Basta?" she asked again. He jumped up and pinned her, blade against her neck.

"Call my name one more time, I dare you, you little wench! I'll slash your fat face!"

She looked at the blade and then back at him. Something in her wide eyes made Basta feel as if he wanted to kill himself as indeed tears began to roll down her face.

"Help him, please." She said through quivering lips, her voice fading. Her sea blue eyes never left his.

"Who?"

"V-Vince. Help him please."

Basta reared back. "Vince? Where is he!"

She sniffled and began to weep uncontrollably. "C-C-Cockerell and Flatnose got him. They d-dragged him into a-a-an abandoned store and began to beat him up. T-they're really hurting him, Basta. Help him, PLEASE!"

"Where are they?"

She limply pointed at the store across from them; Le Boulangerie. Basta was there in a flash. He threw open the dusty door and called out Vincent's name. There was no answer. Curse this darkness, Basta stumbled around in it until he tripped over something.

"…"

"Vince?"

Basta flicked on the light switch. There lay Vincent in the middle of the floor, naked and bloody.

"Oh, Vincent…" Basta sank to his knees next to him. He gingerly removed the gag from his mouth and immediately a fountain of vomit and blood came pouring out on him. Basta watched in a sort of shocked awe as Vincent gagged and coughed over the horrible stench "What happened to you?" But he already knew.

"The found me, Basta. And they-" Vincent tensed his whole body as if he were experiencing a cramp. "Do something, Basta." He begged.

Basta reached out a hand to touch him but withdrew it in disgust. There wasn't a spot on his body where there wasn't a bleeding wound. One arm was twisted the wrong way like a GI Joe figure and something was inwardly poking the skin through his other arm.

"I-I don't know what to do, Vince." Basta said desperately, mopping the blood away with his jacket. But the blood just wouldn't stop. The men here didn't know anything abut treating a wound and the only maids who knew anything had relocated to a new base with Capricorn for the day. Vincent moaned.

"Basta. Please."

Basta. He hated the sound of his own name on Vincent's tongue. He was helpless, Basta was. He didn't know what to do, his cowardly hands refused to touch the nude figure before him. He buried his face in those hands.

"I'm sorry, Vincent. I can't." He got up and backed away, a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Basta, help me!" Vincent tried to get up but gave a yelp and fell back down.

"Vincent, I don't know how to help you!" Basta turned away, ashamed, and began to head out the door but collided with someone.

The little maid was back and this time she had brought Resa and Antonio with her. She scurried towards Vincent with a determined expression on her face and immediately she and Resa began to tend to his wounds. Basta watched as they wrapped, applied pressure, and cut, occasionally enlisting the help of Antonio to lift the injured man up, all the while working in a muffled silence as if Vincent's life hung on their taciturnity and not his bruised chest. All the while Basta stood in the corner, frozen in an uncomfortable position. He knew that Vincent was looking at him, knew that he was trying to catch his eyes and hold them even just for a second, but Basta would not look at him. His black heart beat painfully in his chest as if it were trying to escape the faithless body in which it lived_. Yes, I'd tear you out if I could _he though to himself but Resa had marched up to him.

_ We need to take him to Mortola_, she mouthed to him_, there may be a chance that she will help him._

Basta nodded, shivering under her gaze. Oh, how she looked at him! Eyes glazed with hate as if she could read his thoughts and hear his heart.

_ Go to him_. That's what she had really said. _Go to him and be his savior. Just like you promised. Save him. Save him, Basta!_

And immediately he was by Vincent's side. Teeth clenched tight, he wrapped the other man in his jacket and picked him up. He was surprisingly light. Cradling him to his chest like a baby, Basta burst through the door and began to run in the direction of Capricorn's house. Meanwhile, Vincent was fading in and out of consciousness.

"Basta?" he had said at one point, head swooning.

"Shh. Don't speak. You'll be alright." But he ignored him

"It was you who saved me back there. Not them." Basta looked down at him in surprise.

"If you had turned your back on me, Basta, I would not have survived. There was no way that I would keep on fighting to stay alive if I had know that you, the only person I've ever loved, had given up on me."

Basta was about to reply but the man had fallen out of consciousness again. "It's not that easy, Vince," Basta mouthed and began to run faster.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Vince smile.


	9. Sex and Vampires?

Ugh, I really hated making Resa the "slut" of this chapter. Now that I think about it, I probably should have picked someone else, you know? Like, make up my own maid. But then some people would be like "Oh, where's Resa? She would have been good for this part." But turns out, after reviewing it, I realized that she doesn't fit this role at _all_. I think she would go well with the sweet, motherly type (like she was in the original story.) Oh well. Maybe I'll rewrite this chapter later with a new (ahem) "slut."

Chapter Nine

I woke up with a nauseating feeling. I hurt all over, but not as much as before; a muffled throbbing. I took in a ragged breath, expecting to smell the heavy odor of blood, but instead the smell of _dinner_ hit me. I sniffed in surprise. Yeah, an Italian cuisine, pasta with fresh rosemary, bread baking somewhere, some type of pungent (but delicious) meat.

Déjà vu?

Yeah, me too.

For the second time in one week Resa was standing over me, adjusting the cloth on my wounds. In the kitchen, of course. I smiled groggily and sat up, groaning as pain shot through my stomach.

"How many more time are we gonna do this, Resa?" I asked, gently pushing her aside as she tried to push me back down. "No, I'm okay. How many more times are you gonna throw me on a table and start tending to my injuries, probably putting poison ointment in my bandages. Ah, _ssss_, fuck!"

She laughed. Then she put her hands on her hips and, looking mockingly pouty, gave me an expecting look.

"Thank you?" I said, rubbing my bare arms. For a minute I was startled in seeing that I had no shirt on but was relieved when I saw that I was wearing black jeans, suspiciously looking like a woman's. Resa laughed again and pushed me back into a sitting position next to an open oven.

Warming my hands, I watched her put pans of fresh dough in the oven, sweating around her forehead. She looked at me and gave me another smile. She really was a thing of beauty, this woman was. Her manner was fluid, her smile was real, and her breasts (though small) were _definitely_ real. I wanted to palm them. _Heh heh heh_.

"What? You don't believe that I appreciate your help?" I asked with a mocking expression on my face. She rolled her eyes and kneeled down next to me. Looking around, she drew a scrap of paper from her apron and began to write on it.

_You'll thank me later. _She wrote. _How are you feeling?_

I tested myself, surprised. Believe me, my body hurt but…it was bearable. I walked around the kitchen, testing out my legs. I paced the full length of the kitchen twice, dodging pots, open cabinets, and maids. I felt surprisingly, well, _okay_. After a beating like that any other man would have tried to kill his own damn self, but me? No. I was actually quite alright.

Surviving something like that, I'm really starting to wonder if I'm some type of Greek God, you know? Well, minus the fact that I'm not Greek andI'm probably not a God because as far as I know _they_ hate my guts.

I heard Resa laugh again, a childish tinkling sound, and turned around. "Resa, how long was I unconscious?" I asked, eyeing the other maids.

_You were in and out of consciousness for a whole day and a half, Vincent! _She wrote again.

"A whole day?" Something occurred to me. "Shit! Today's my last day of training! Tomorrow I have to face Capricorn's test! I can't go like this!" However, Resa just smiled.

_ As far as I know, you're already a good Fire-Raiser. Plus, you and Basta will figure something out. You're very…cunning, Vincent, so I know you will do fine._

I nodded, oddly consoled at her words. Then I looked her up and down once again, not even trying to hide my amusement.

"You maids have rooms here?"

She nodded, looking suspicious.

"I'd …like to see yours, Resa. Can you…show me, just for a minute?" I purred, leaning in on her. I saw my own face in her eyes, cut and bruised, but looking all the more darkly seductive. I kissed her alabaster-pink lips. She held it for a minute, but then pulled away, looking angry. She began to write furiously.

_What do you think you're doing? I'll get in trouble!_

"You have a husband?" I asked knowingly. She nodded.

"And children?" She nodded again, looking tense but still angry.

"And they're not here, far away maybe? You haven't seen them in a long time." She nodded again, her lips quivering whether in indignation or sadness I couldn't tell. I put a finger on those lips.

"You miss being loved?" I whispered so that only she could hear. She didn't respond but closed her eyes and tensed her jaw when I traced it. I kissed her lips again, our breath mingling and turning into steam in the hot kitchen. The other maids stopped what they were doing and watched us incredulously, mouths hanging open, but we kissed, her lips sweet candy and glossy with my passion. I couldn't remember when I had last kissed a girl like this and then I remembered; never before with such grace.

We pulled away, breathing shallowly. I stared at her soft face, blushing in the heat of the moment. She looked around at the maids watching us with equal surprise. But then she looked at me. She was angry; I could see that. She was angry, hurt, and embarrassed but not unsatisfied. I saw the longing in her eyes; longing to be loved by a man.

"Show me to your room." I whispered to her. She nodded and led me away.

_Basta trudged up the narrow stairs, knife in hand. He was going to give it to Vincent, his own trusty knife as a symbol of apology and appreciation. He had tried numerous times to come up with some type of catchy speech like they did in the moving pictures in this world but they all sounded so cheesy, so in the end he decided that he would just talk it out and let whatever came out flow._

"_Is Vincent still here?" he asked, trudging into the kitchen, slightly panting. The Black Jackets weren't allowed in the kitchen, but Basta was top dog so the consequences wouldn't be too dire. The maid from last night stepped up, "No. Mortola treated him an hour ago and now he's in a room resting."_

_Basta was getting tired of seeing this ho so often. He was about to tease her when something in her eyes caught his attention. She was looking slightly panicked and was trying to nudge him out. The other maids were looking slightly panicked, too, and stunned, and Basta felt that it was not his presence that made them look so worried. He grabbed the girl by her wrist._

_ "_Which_ room?" he asked her, his voice low. She gulped and searched the others for help. But none of the maids offered it, just stared at the two in scared silence. Basta shook the girl._

"_Which room, girl? I won't ask you again!" _

_ "I don't know!" she gushed, beginning to cry. "I think he went back to your house! I don't know, Basta!"_

_He roared and threw her to the ground, unsheathing his knife. "Bitch! He wouldn't have gone back on his own and you know it! Last time, __where__…__is__...__**Vincent**__? Would you like me to rape the answer out of you right here and now, you son of a bitch? Huh?"_

_ Enraged, Basta was about to reach for the girl but another maid threw herself in his path. "He's in Resa's room!" This maid whined. Basta froze._

"_Resa's…r-room?" He shook his head. "What-"_

_He began to lope down the hallway until he reached a door marked number three. He paused and listened. It was silent. He was about to turn away but then he heard a moan, so faint that he might have been imagining it. He threw open the door._

_There was Vincent._

_Pants down._

_His lips on Resa's bare breasts._

"_Vince?"_

_ Basta?" He sprang up. Resa jumped in surprise and accidently kicked Vincent's face. "Damn, woman! Watch your feet!" he cursed._

"_Vince what are you doing?" Basta yelled. His voice was dangerously high._

"_I-I-I…w-what does it look like?" The moment he said Vincent regretted his words. His hand flew to his mouth. Basta reared back._

"_But that's Resa your slimy tongue is on, damn it!" Basta cried. Resa the beauty. Resa the untouchable. Resa the woman who had always rejected him. "I told you to stay away from her!"_

_ Vince had gotten up. He was fixing his pants buckle. Its clanking noise filled the room. Resa had gotten up and was backing away towards the door._

"_Vince!"_

"_What?" He looked up, anger clouding his eyes._

"_You weren't s'posed to fuck Resa. I specifically told you-"_

_That was it. That was the last straw. Vincent, turning red, pounced on Basta. "So what if I did, you sorry asshole? You're just jealous because your whole life not one woman has wanted to fuck you! Huh? Huh, asshole? Well I'm sorry but Resa actually likes me and would prefer me over your sorry ass any day. And also," here he got right up in his face "It wasn't sex, it was a bllllllloooooooo-jjjjjjoooooooobbbbbb. Something you've probably never experienced in your whole life!"_

Basta roared and sprang on the unsuspecting Vincent. Face twisted in rage, he punched him a good one in the face, but Vincent rolled from under him and tried for the door but Basta was quicker and grabbed the man's leg and pulled it out from under him. Enraged, Basta kicked the man in the stomach, sending him sprawling across the room. Basta pulled out his knife and was about to attack the man but something in Vincent's eyes hit a nerve.

"Do it." Vincent said, eyes cold, "I've been God's little punching bag for so long now. Just do it."

Basta inhaled deeply and, eyes closed, he thrust the blade into Vincent's belly, making them both grunt. He immediately felt the warm blood trickling over his hand. The feel of it was strangely comforting and pleasurable and he gave the knife a satisfying little twist. Is this what Vince felt when he killed people?

Probably.

It felt good.

Really good.

Basta paused and licked the blood on his knife. Pain tasted good. _Really _good.


	10. Not all who wander are lost

Chapter Ten

I felt the knife in my belly. I felt the eyes on my skin. I felt the scream in the maids' throats. I felt the cold in the blood.

I felt the pleasure in Basta's eyes. I tasted my blood on his tongue.

And immediately I was running. He wasn't going to pull the knife out, so I did. And I was running; pushing past the maids in the kitchen, bursting through the front doors. I was running. How many times have I run in my life, away from life?

I remembered the glint in Basta's eyes. Finally, he had felt it, too. The pleasure of the kill. It was inside us all. I was a fool to think that he would be any different.

I ran and ran. Through the church, past the houses, through the parking lot, over the bridge, and through the forest surrounding, all the while holding my bleeding belly. After running maybe a mile through brush and darkness I threw myself down onto the moist earth and began to cry. Soon sniffling became whimpering and whimpering became small coughs and choking and soon small coughs and choking became delirious wailing. I kicked and screamed and tore at my hair. I ripped grass out of the earth and flung it at the sky. I pounded the earth and cursed the worst curses I knew. I writhed and writhed in pain like a snake, holding my belly while tears poured out of my eyes.

"I don't know what to do!" I cried out. When no one answered I screamed and squeezed my head in my hands as if to pop it of. Fear crept into my blood. Fear of being alone. Fear of dying by myself. No one had ever loved me and no one ever will. Basta didn't love me, those women at Singsong's palace didn't love me, Resa didn't love me, and my mother sure in the hell didn't love me.

My mother…

I whispered her name as salty tears coated my lips. I pretended that the dirt below me was her hair. I stroked her hair over and over as those hundreds of men that had made her sick and killed her must have done. I buried my face in it, expecting to find the scent of cigarettes and sickness that was hers but instead inhaled the smell of grass and dirt. God's grass and dirt.

"Why do you trick me?" I sobbed, cringing as I pushed a finger through the hole in my belly, trying to stop the blood.

And there I lay. Dreaming of a mother and a place where no one could die but everyone could kill.

_Dustfinger._

Dustfinger trudged through the thicket, the sun beating on his sweating scalp. Gwin had run ahead a while ago, chasing after some unseen prey and Dustfinger, being too tired, hadn't even bothered to go after him. It was stupid to go back to Capricorn's village, he knew, but the homesickness had been particularly bad this time. He just needed something, anything, to be familiar in these alien surroundings, even if it was Capricorn and his stupid men.

So there he was, trudging through this godforsaken thicket to get to the Devil's Domain.

After a while, Dustfinger stopped and leaned against a tree trunk, exhausted. Why was it so hot here? Back home the temperature was at least predictable and bearable. But here, damn it, it was _hot_. Even the occasional rainstorms had a warm air about them. He took a swig from his water bottle but thought, _oh, what the heck_ and dumped it over his head. _I'll get some more later._

Gwin rushed at him from out of a bush. The marten climbed up his shoulder and chattered ferociously in his ear. Dustfinger tried to lure the faithless beats into his backpack but Gwin chattered on, evermore excited, and scurried farther ahead, looking back at Dustfinger once before moving on.

This was strange. A little too strange. Gwin only got this agitated when Dustfinger kept him in his backpack too long. He decided to follow him, although something in is heart told him it was a bad idea.

After ten minutes Gwin stopped and looked up at Dustfinger expectantly. They had reached a ring of trees that Dustfinger knew surrounded a clearing near a river. "What did you lead me here for, you faithless animal? Deciding to play guard dog for a change?" Dustfinger chuckled and was about to turn away when he heard a curious noise coming from somewhere in front of him. It was a mix between a moan and a scream. For a minute Dustfinger's heart stopped as he peered through the branches in front of him. The sound was too defined to be an animal's yet too oddly pitched to be a human's. Dustfinger drew his knife (the knife whose only purpose so far was to cut his hair when it got too long) from his back pocket and inched forward until he was right at the edge of a clearing. There, in the middle of the clearing, lay a motionless bundle of wrinkled clothes and scarred flesh. Upon noticing a crop of mop-topped hair Dustfinger drew forward with more confidence, assured that the curious pile was, in fact, human.

Dustfinger knelt besides it with caution. The man was curled up in a fetal position, knees drawn up to his forehead, hands pulled in tightly towards his chest. His clothes were filthy; covered with blood, moisture, and grains of dirt. Through the various holes he spied ripped flesh and stomach-wrenching wounds. Dustfinger averted his eyes from those wounds and looked at the man's face. It was twisted in agony as if he were having a bad dream, and gashed, much like his own. His face was tearstained and before he knew what he was doing Dustfinger reached out and traced the other man's tears.

The man's eyes flew open.

Dustfinger jumped back and gasped as the horrible figure slowly rose before him. The man looked around as if in a dream and moaned something incomprehensible, a hand positioned abnormally on his belly.

And then his eyes turned on Dustfinger.

"Whooooo are yooooouuuuuuu?" The man's voice was irregularly slurred, as if he were a child pretending to be a ghost. Something in his eyes hinted delirium.

"I…D-D-D-Dustfinger. I…I-I'm sorry. I'll-l-l-l be going." Dustfinger stumbled backwards but the other man lunged at him and grabbed his arm.

"I'm Vincent." He hissed, smiling. He looked Dustfinger up and down. "Whoooooooo ze fuckare you?"

Vincent. Where had he heard that name before? Dustfinger tried to pull away but the man was gripping his arm tightly. Damn it, where was his knife now?

"Haf zou zeen mah mother?" Vincent asked. Now his voice was high pitched, like he was about to cry.

"V-Vincent, p-p-please. I haven't seen your mother…I…let me go!" and then it came to him. This was Vincent, Basta's apprentice. Basta's top dog. One night a few days ago Dustfinger had been eavesdropping on a few of Capricorn's men and there he learned all about Vincent. He was destined to be a good fire-raiser, they said. He was a black-haired fine ass beauty, they said. He was a psychopath, they said. And then there were the more ridiculous claims like, Basta had, literally, used his knowledge of premonitions and curses to save this man from eternal damnation (hell) and that this man was immortal and that's why he survived all of those wounds.

Sooooo…_this_ _was_ Basta's dog. Dustfinger knew he had to get away and fast. But something was nagging at him.

"Vincent, where'd you get those wounds?"

For a minute Vincent stood very still, eyes shut as if trying to remember something. Then slowly, very slowly, he loosened his grip on Dustfinger's arm and just as slowly he opened his eyes.

"Basta." He said in a small voice.

_Time to run, Dustfinger. Do it while he's distracted._ "Why would he do such a thing?" Dustfinger asked, curiosity ultimately winning out. Vincent shrugged and sat cross-legged on the ground.

"Because….because… Basta's evil. We all are sometimes."

Dustfinger only nodded. He still couldn't find the strength to leave even though he knew the man before him was capable of more violence than a rabid dog.

"Dustfinger." Vincent said thoughtfully. He looked at the sky. "Basta mentioned you. Something about you two being enemies? I suppose I should kill you."

"No." Dustfinger sat down besides him. The sun was bright and threw a curtain of sunlight over the two men. "Basta is your enemy, he tried to kill you."

Vincent made a pensive _hmmm_ and together the two men looked up at the sky.

"Where are you going? Like….in life, I mean?"

"No where. Everywhere. I'm a wandering fire-juggler."

"Can I wander with you? I'm lost to this world. I don't belong here."

_Tell me about it_, Dustfinger thought. But for a moment, Vincent looked so…different. The sun on his face, the emptiness in his eyes, the blood in his matted hair-this was not the face of a psychopath but someone who belonged nowhere. And everywhere. A true wanderer.

"Yes." Dustfinger said without really thinking. Vincent sighed; a sigh so deep that it seemed to wash all of the pain and memories from his soul, and he closed his eyes once again. "Well," Vince winced, "Let's go, partner."

_It might not be so bad to have him as company,_ Dustfinger thought to himself as he trudged behind Vincent warily, _it would be nice to have at least some kind of protection, even if it came in the form of a bipolar psychopath…._

"By the way, call me Vince. Not Vincent." Vince-not-Vincent said over his shoulder, grinning.

And the two men whose bond was formed through a common enemy trudged through the trees, out of the clearing and far from the village. They both had felt the pleasure in Basta's knife; the both bore his scars. They both were lost to this world; outsiders forever.

THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER! So keep checking in. Thanx. 


	11. Love is Strange

Chapter Eleven

_So you think the story just ended there? Ha ha ha! Funny. No, really? _And the two men walked into the surrounding sunny forest holding hands and swapping stories while the birds twittered above them. Oh, and they lived happily ever after.The end? _Idiot. Don't you know me? Haven't you read enough about me to know that nothing goes well for me? Don't you know enough about your beloved Dustfinger to know that he wouldn't last a day with a man like me? Bad-ass. Hell no. Nobody deserves a happy ending._

_And we all are psychopaths. On the inside._

Narrative resumed by your charming Vincent. Aren't I such a _doll_?

As previously hinted, the Dustfinger-Vincent Tag Team was not to last. On the third day Dustfinger discovered my paradoxical moods. On the fifth day he discovered my cursing habits and perverted past. On the eighth day he witnessed me kill somebody.

And that's when he left me.

On that morning I woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. After calling Dustfinger's name 16 times I thought, _fuck, he really is gone_. I wandered around aimlessly for the rest of the day with no food in my belly and not a thought in my mind. Well, except for strange fantasy that any moment Dustfinger would emerge from the crowd and start juggling torches to put food in my stomach again. But no such thing happened. It was on the day that I found myself staring nervously (yep, _nervously_) for half an hour at a nearby mushroom that it occurred to me that if I wanted to stay alive any longer I would have to snap out of my daze and actually do something.

So I tried hustling. Not so easy to do in Italy. I tried to do fire-juggling like Dustfinger but I chickened out. I even (horror of horrors!) applied for a job. Office Max took one look at me and turned me out.

And so it was as I was poking at my skin-and-bones stomach that it occurred to me. Of course. Why hadn't I ever thought of it before?

I had to go back to the village one last time.

So that's really where the story resumes. Back to the Lair of the Beasts.

I sat back in the seat, peering warily out of the car window. It was a red Honda, a pretty thing, but the owner wouldn't be back for a while, I guessed.

So there I sat in red Honda in the parking lot. Of the beasts.

The Black Jackets were being unproductive as usual, setting fire to cats, spitting at each other, or smoking pot. I had spotted Cockerell few feet away leaning against a green pick-up truck. For some reason the wide grin on his face, the carefree way he laughed with the men around him, and the dominating way in which he crossed his arms over his chest in the manner of a proud man made my stomach twitch. How could he smile and toss his head like that while I sat, his victim, wounded, pained by his action, and cowering in a car a few feet a way? It wasn't fair.

I turned my head away when tears threatened to come.

In truth I was looking for a sign. Something, anything would do. A bird landing on the car, a cat's meow, even a fucking unicorn running out of the trees would do. But I was procrastinating, I knew. So a put out my dirty cigarette and sighed. I knew what I had to do. There was no better time to do it.

Eyes focused on the Black Jackets closest to me, I slowly eased open the door and crawled out on all fours. After looking around to make sure no one noticed I dashed to the next car and the next, feeling like James Bond. I actually started to hum the theme song. But just as I was about to jump from behind the last car a man stepped out.

"Hey! Whassuper?" he screeched to the group of men around him. Suddenly all eyes were in his direction, which happened to be my direction, too. His heavy boot landed inches in front of my nose as he tugged himself out of the doorway.

"Collin! Man, what's up?" All of a sudden more men were advancing our way. I was unnoticed for the moment but I knew that as soon as he shut the door I would be in full view. I'd have to make a dash for it.

"One…two…." I squeezed my eyes shut as the door began to creak close. "Thr-"

"Hey, what are you doing?" and suddenly I was looking into the eyes of the man, Collin. His chiseled face did not yet betray recognition. The other men began to surround us in a small circle. Sooner or later one of them would recognize me and say;

"Hey! That's Vi-"

And I was up and running like mad. Eyes shut; I had no idea where I was but a vague sense of direction. As long as I was in constant motion no one would notice me, so I barged through crowds, pushing and shoving with eyes closed until I was free and running again. Only when I ceased to hear sound and feel people pushing against me did I stop and look around. As predicted I had landed in an empty street. I sighed in relief and sat down only to notice that I had arrived at the house. The house of the young maid's childhood.

Feeling a sense of guilt, I stepped inside the dank room and sat down on the cold stone floors. The little room was as dark and depressing as ever but for some reason the yellowed walls with the peeling borders filled my heart with homesickness and sweet longing. And then my eyes fell on the little altar. The baby bottle, photograph, blanket, and sewing machine were still there but now someone had added a brand-new plastic baby doll still in the box. The pink plastic and painted cardboard looked so out of place in this dark room that I reached out to touch it and make sure it was real. **"Play With Me Amy!" **it demanded above blinking blue eyes. "**I Will Love You Forever and Ever!"**

Well I picked up that Amy and flung her across the room. Immediately the house was filled with motion activated giggles and high-pitched babbling. I put my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut-_**up**_!" I cried.

And then I looked up.

There she stood; hand wearily on the door frame.

"Vince?"

I sighed and leaned against the wall. "You know, I never knew your name."

"Bonfilia-call-me-Bonny."

"Like Vince-not-Vincent." I smiled. "Where'd you get that doll from?"

Bonfilia-call-me-Bonny closed the door and sat down shyly besides me. Together we stared at the ugly doll who currently had one eye closed and a pinky mouth like a blowjob. "One of the maids here got pregnant by a Black-Jacket. I used up the last few dollars I had left to buy her that doll so the baby could be happy. But…she disappeared one day. I-it's was said that Capricorn ordered a group of men to kill her. So they dragged her into the forest…and…they…well, they had….they raped her and drowned her body in a nearby river. The unborn baby-" Here she sniffled and looked away. "The maid's name was Haiyen but we called her Cookie. She was only thirteen."

We both sat quietly, reflecting on a young girl named Cookie who was drowned, pregnant, and raped at the tender age of thirteen. "Why did you come back Vince?"  
Bonny asked suddenly. "Basta's furious. When you left he shut himself up in his house for days and whenever he came out his eyes were red and he would hurt a lot of people. Why did you come back?"

I thought for a moment. "To kill myself."

She nodded, though I could see the sadness in her eyes. She didn't want me to die anymore than I had the will to keep living. But she wouldn't try to stop me. She knew me well enough.

So that's why I did it.

I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips and at that moment that's when I realized; there are two types of kisses. There are kissed where, as soon as you do it, your body is filled with longing and intentions for the other person, you want to take control and pull them in, you want to fill there body with everything you have to offer, and then there was this kiss; a kiss swift and unsure, leaving you wondering why in the hell you did it, a kiss where you both jump in surprise, a kiss that sinks into the other's pale and wary skin and last for just a swift second; a kiss of innocence that's proof that the world could jump up and surprise you at any time. Those are the type of kisses that I love best.

When it was done we both pulled away and looked away form each other, blushing fire with smiles on our lips.

"Vincent, you don't have to go." It wasn't a plea; it was a fact from her point of view.

"Yes I do," I said, getting up. I took one last look around the room, drinking in everything about it. "I wish I had something for you to remember me by…"

"How about your jacket?" she said.

I looked down at it in surprise. "What, this bloody old thing? Please….something else, okay?"

She shook her head and pouted. "I want it. As long as it's your blood, I'll literally be having a part of you."

I laughed at her lightheartedness on such a gory topic, but I gave her the jacket. It was a really old leather jacket that I think one of my Exes gave to me, but she hugged it to her chest and smiled. "I will never wash it!"

"Eew!" I said (actually, I said the guy version of Eew, which is something along the lines of eeeeeeeeeeeee-uh, can you say that? Eeeeeeeeee-uh?)

"No, I'm serious! I'll make a special box for it and only take it out when I need you."

"Alright…then" We stood in the doorway staring each other. Me; the psychopath with war wounds and her; the innocent angel born in hell. The two best friends finding love in the most unlikely place. I reached out and cradled her face in my hands. "Bonny? Listen to me. Now I'm not the guy to make snappy speeches, but I want you to take me seriously. Be strong, okay? Through hell and high water be strong. Don't lose yourself in good times and don't build yourself in bad times. I want you o be strong, don't be like me. Don't be a quitter like I am. I want you to go through with this and live life to the fullest, as full as you can, and maybe, just maybe, I'll see you in Heaven."

"There is no Heaven, Vince." She said, tears spilling out of her eyes and onto her cheek. "I'll always see you right here, in this house, and on this jacket." She hugged the jacket to her chest and looked up at me.

I wanted to kiss her again, but I knew that would be wrong so I took one step backwards, committing her to my fading memory, and turned away, taking the road to Basta's house.

It was still daytime when I arrived there, the sun was at its peek in the sky, but the house looked so dark and dismal that one had to wonder whether or not night itself spent the daytime hours there. Still undecided, I tried the door and, finding it unlocked, sauntered in. Off course. Why would he lock the door? Who would dare wander into Basta's house unless they had a death wish? Once inside I found his once spectacularly clean house a huge mess. Smashed bottles littered the floor, the sparse furniture had gash marks on it, and one wall was spattered with what looked like blood.

After a few minutes I found myself at the door to his bedroom. I listened, there was a strange sound coming from the inside. It was slow, scratchy, and repetitive and for a moment I listened in fright, imagining him in the room slowly and meticulously sawing apart someone's bones. But I opened the door and there he stood.

Basta looked like a wild man. His black hair had grown a shocking length, his skin was sickly pale, and his eyes were blood red. He turned slowly towards me, in slow motion just like a horror movie (which I suppose it was,) clutching his knife in one hand.

"Vin…cent?

I gulped and shut the door. No turning back. "Basta." We stared at each other for a long time, each one not knowing what to say. Finally he sighed and ran a hand over his face, looking out his closed window to someplace unknown. I saw, to my relief, that he had not been sawing human bones but had been carving illegible words into the white plaster of his walls. He passed his hand back over his face the opposite way and looked out at me with those red, red eyes from under a cupped hand. "For a long time you were my best friend," his voice was slow, and drawn out like a man who's having his breath slowly squeezed out of him "and then you became my best victim." He kind of smiled. "What of that do you think?"

"I think that's the way of life." I said carefully. I moved slowly as I lowered myself onto his bed, eyes on his as if looking away would induce the pent up rage within him. "I think that's the way of life and you're very good at it. I admire you faithlessness, Basta, and if you don't mind I have one last faithless favor for you."

He acted like he didn't even hear the last sentence. Instead he clenched his fist so hard over the blade of his knife that immediately blood came gushing forward, painting crimson tragedy on the while palate of his pale hand. His eyes bore holes through mine. "Do you know Vincent, that on the day that you were supposed to show your skills to Capricorn I had to stand in front of the whole village and explain why you weren't there? Do you know how they laughed at me, Vincent? But that doesn't even matter. _Capricorn _saw me unfit for work and banished me for a _month _out of his service and gave me the job of working with the maids in the _kitchen_."

"Yes, but-"

"Do you know that everyday Resa comes up to me and spits at my feet, right in front of everyone? Do you know that the other day someone let loose six black cats in my house and that now Cockerell has becomes Capricorn's _**right hand man**_?" Basta sighed and sat down next to me, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Do you know how I felt as I watched you run away from me while I held a knife with _your _blood clutched to my chest? Do you, Vincent?"

"Yes." I said. "It's how I felt when you taught me everything I know about being who I am. It feels pleasurable and sickening at the same time, this feeling."

For some reason he seemed satisfied with this answer. "What is it you want me to do, Vincent?" he asked me, barely audible.

"I think you already know."

Basta sighed and reached for his gun, but stopped and grabbed his knife instead. He fingered the handle and looked up at me. For a minute I saw a different Basta, the one who frowned and told me to do it again when I messed up but secretly on the inside felt pangs of pride towards me and everything I've done. He sighed again.

"It's….not that easy Vince."

I smiled and closed my eyes. Such fitting words. They were the last ones I'd ever hear.

Basta stood and raised his knife high over the man's body. He wanted to say something, one more thing, just so Vincent could look up and see his eyes one more time. But he didn't. He didn't. He didn't. He didn't…..he didn't….he didn't want to this. He didn't want to destroy what he had devoted himself to create. But he did. He wanted to rip Vincent shred to shred for the things that he had done; Basta wanted to kill him for what he had become. But he still loved the man. And hated him.

And so there Basta stood, knife held above his head. Could he? Could he destroy what he had created? Could he kill his only friend? Or would he dare hold mercy over his worst enemy?

You'll never know.

THE END

**Ending note (Directed mainly towards Insanepyro…you know who you are **

** PHEW-WEE! GOLLY ALMIGHTY THAT IS DONE, BABY! Why was it such hell to write these few last chapters? Anyway, to the point. I KNOW THAT SOME OF YOU (AHEM) AREN'T EXACTLY HAPPY WITH THE ENDING OF THIS STORY. In fact, so unhappy that I have been getting blackmail (just kidding.) But I have a reason for doing what I did. You ready?**

**There's gonna be a sequel.**

** Maybe. I can't decide whether or not I wanted Vincent to end up dead or alive. If I had him die at the end then I couldn't write a sequel but if I left him alive I could. Now, most you of you are probably thinking, "Why not just write the damn sequel?" Well, lately I haven't had much free time, so if I never get the time to write one you guys will be content with the fact that the story has ended for good. But what if I do end up writing a sequel? I need Vincent alive, don't I? So you see my dilemma. So in the end I just got lazy and am forcing you guys into a black hole of suspense (MWAHAHA.) However, if I do write a sequel, what would you guys like to see? Vincent going to the Inkworld? (Ooh, I like that one!) Or maybe Vincent destroying Capricorn's village? Vincent getting swept into the Meggie/Mo/Dustfinger/Farid/Elinor story? Hmmmm. I don't know. What do you guys want? Depending on suggestions I might just write a sequel…maybe.**


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